Spiderman Rebirth: Revelations
by MarvelHero1610
Summary: Following the aftermath of Lamentations, Peter finds himself in a strange place, torn between his darker desires and his responsibility. His actions will uncover old secrets and wounds hidden under his skin as he discovers the answer to the question he's been asking... HIATUS...


**Author's Note: Once more into the breach...hello, everyone. This Volume 3 of Spider-Man Rebirth and the end to this current arc. Thanks to everyone that's followed since my rough beginning. I hope that you stay tuned as I bring this arc to (hopefully) a rousing close. And...let's go...**

* * *

 **1:23 AM**

 **FiskTech Office, Long Island**

There were six hostages. Men and women in suits. Alan Fagan could sense the fear that he had personally instilled in them. His gaseous pheromones circled the room, swirling around his victims as they sweat and panted, soundless because of their gagging. Fagan sat in this room, stories above the streets, and listened to them squirm on the floor. His own hollow breaths behind his gas mask filled in the rhythm gaps.

On Alan's hip, he had a Colt .45 revolver that weighed heavy on his belt. Occasionally, he took it out and pointed it at his hostages, smiling when there was a failed attempt at a squeal. He had repeated that at least five times during the course of his wait. It had been silent. There weren't even sirens outside. The police couldn't get to him because of the snow. But, he knew that Fisk would find a way.

Richard Fisk was slime, trash, and shit set ablaze. Only a few weeks ago, the new heir to the "Fisk Empire" slaughtered Fagan's friends by executing in the middle of the street, a brazen display of power. Lonnie and Macendale were dead on impact and Frederick Foswell had barely managed to climb out of the car. Alan had been launched from the car through the windshield. Glass had ripped through his face, cutting deep to the bone. Surgery had only done enough to keep him alive. He still required a mask to keep his features from melting into each other. The pain he felt only served to increase his desire for vengeance.

Alan Fagan had started off small. There was nothing that the Fisk family loved more than money, so he began robbing any place that he knew Fisk was attached to. His fear gas made it so the police were more likely to flee from him then attempt to apprehend him. After that, Fagan infiltrated one of "FiskTech"s buildings and kidnapped the six highest-ranking members on Fisk's Board. Now, he sat, waiting for Fisk's little dog to appear.

There had been rumors in New York's underbelly of new masked heroes patrolling the streets and rooftops. While The Hand had dissipated after taking heavy losses during the gang war following Wilson Fisk's imprisonment, a few of their agents still lurked in the shadows. Even they were being picked off one by one. Their bodies weren't found. Whoever these new players were, they were significantly tougher than New York's "Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man".

Alan took in a deep breath and stood up from his chair. His revolver was beginning to weigh heavy on his belt again. He supposed that after an hour, it was time to empty the chamber. Six bullets, one for every member of FiskTech's board. Alan would make sure that they counted.

Before Alan could even place a hand onto his gun, something had attached to his back and lurched into the shadows. Fagan's heart raced and he grabbed for his fear gas pellets and threw them to the ground. The gas slowly rose in the air around him. When it did, Fagan ran from the shadows and back into the center of the room. The moon and streetlights below illuminated everything enough for him to see his opponent clearly. The six hostages whimpered as Alan backed closer towards them, staring as his attacker emerged from the darkness.

He had a small build, lithe but muscular and was garbed from head to toe in black. Large, black, glassy eyes stared at Fagan. On his chest, there was a large silvery-grey spider on the man's chest. Fagan gasped behind his gas mask. It was Spider-Man. Alan watched the clips from Spider-Man's fight against the massive goblin monster that had attacked New York and the web-slinger had worn the same costume when he confronted it. Now, he stood in front of Fagan.

The dots were slowly starting to connect. There couldn't possibly have been any news coverage on Alan's kidnapping of the six board members. Perhaps, they had pressed a panic button, but Fagan had expected that. The button would go straight to Fisk's office and he would find a way to deal with it. So, if Spider-Man was here...that meant he worked for Fisk.

"You..." Alan Fagan breathed. "How could you work for Fisk? Do you know how many lives he's taken!? The things that he's done?!" Spider-Man seemed to ignore him and Alan smiled underneath his mask. Maybe, the fear gas was causing the Spider to get woozy and panicked. "Feeling scared, huh? Feeling like you should run?" Fagan walked closer to Spider-Man, feeling a boost in his confidence. "It doesn't matter how strong you are, freak. You're still just a human. Isn't that right, Spider-Man?"

The black-garbed Spider-Man's hand latched around Fagan's throat and he scratched at the ebon man's grip. He was struggling to breathe as Spider-Man lifted him over his head. "No," the hero said with a voice deeper and more aggressive than Fagan had expected. "You're very wrong. I'm not Spider-Man." The web-slinger's other hand reached to remove Fagan's mask. The man known as Mister Fear was powerless to stop him.

As his face began to crumble, his nose and jaw drooping to the side, Alan was exposed to his own gas. It burrowed deep into his lungs and swam through his blood before it finally nestled into his brain. What he saw was no longer just Spider-Man in a black costume. His gas twisted his vision and caused hallucinations. The web-slinger now had a wide open maw with long serrated fangs and slithering tongue. Alan Fagan shook. He tried to force the hallucinations away but to no avail. He began to hyperventilate, only straining himself more.

"W-what in the hell are you?" he asked.

" **We are Venom.** " Before Alan Fagan could say anything else to the hallucinated monster, he was launched from the building, crashing through the window. The cold winds chilled him to the bone as he descended, a large patch of hard ice and snow his target. Before he could hit it, something caught his foot and stopped his descent. It didn't however, stop his momentum and the last thing that Alan Fagan saw was the thick black strand that had caught his foot and the side of the building that would put him to sleep.

* * *

 **1:45 AM**

 **FiskTech Headquarters, Manhattan**

The dufflebag hitting Richard Fisk's mahogany desk was near literal music to Peter Parker's ears, even though his head hurt due to a lack of sleep. Richard Fisk sat back in his chair, clothed in a finely tailored suit, even though it was the middle of the night. The ginger man smiled and nodded his head.

"Very nice work, kid," he said softly. Peter opened the bag and pretended to count the money inside, even though he was satisfied with the first stack of hundred dollar bills that he saw. "The money's all there," Fisk laughed. Peter nodded and took in a shallow sigh as he closed the bag. Payments like these were regular for every "minor" job that Peter did for Fisk. The way the young teenager saw it, he was finally being _paid_ for being a hero, though only selectively. Fisk never paid Peter for stopping a burglary or a mugging. Instead, Fisk paid him for tracking down his enemies that threatened his company's future and infrastructure.

It wasn't technically illegal, at least to Peter. He was positive that his godfather didn't simply give Captain America a little pat on the back when he helped quell uprisings and bomb threats in Europe. Peter had lost enough in life and he felt it was time that he be repaid. His aunt _was_ poor, but now Peter made enough from his "jobs" that he almost considered them to be well-off.

"How is your aunt?" Richard Fisk asked, breaking off the silence. The question seemed genuine, but Peter was wary. Even after working for Fisk for a few weeks, his trust and comfort levels around the man weren't growing higher. Fisk already knew too much about him as it was.

"She's fine," Peter replied. "Just enjoying the fact that I'm actually assisting financially." Aunt Mae had been ecstatic when Peter told her that he had paid the utility bills for that month. He had, of course, paid them ahead for the next few months, but his aunt would have immediately suspected some sort of foul play if he had told her that.

Richard Fisk nodded and smiled. "Good," he said. "And your friend, Mary?" Peter pressed his lips together.

"She's great," he replied. "Any other questions?" His last words were snappy and aggressive, something that the young black hero was noticing he was more prone to do. Since he had let the black suit emerge from within him, his emotions had been far more explosive than they used to. At night, he adopted a darker persona in order to let those emotions out, at least with self-imposed limits that kept him from giving in to bloodlust or anger.

Fisk shook his head. "No, no more questions. I know you're tired. Go back home and get some sleep," he said. Peter nodded and jumped into the air, exiting FiskTech through the open latch in the ceiling and roof of the building. Peter's red and blue costume let the chills of the wind rock his body. Out of habit, the symbiote came over Peter's body, insulating him and shooting pleasurable sensations to his brain. Finally warm, the young man nose-dived from the top of the FiskTech headquarters, stopping himself with a quick black tendril that traveled much farther than his normal webs.

He sailed far above the city skyline. If it weren't for the insulation his suit provided, the cold winds would bite at his bones, but with the symbiote, there was absolutely no issue. Peter barely even noticed how fast he was swinging through the city until he saw his neighborhood below him. The symbiote tendrils attached to the trees and he brought himself to his bedroom. Independently, the tendrils opened the window and guided him through it.

Peter Parker landed elegantly on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Part of him wanted to see Mary Jane. Since she'd been home, her aunt had pressed her to stay in bed. It had been a least a week and a half since Peter had even seen her. He'd have to change that later on in the day. The symbiote faded into Peter's pores and he stripped his red and blue costume off, hanging it in the back of his closet.

The Parker boy then laid in bed and closed his eyes. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt his comforter pull up his body and the symbiote tendrils retreat back into his pores.

* * *

 **9:51 AM**

 **Daily Bugle**

Ben Urich slowly lifted a cup of coffee to his mouth, sipping even slower when the heated liquid touched his lips. He stared at his computer screen and gulped down his drink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his boss walking down the aisle. With an absent hand, he grabbed for him. Jameson stared down with an instant look of annoyance.

"What the f-"

"Five papers reporting on Richard Fisk. _The New York Times, The Post, The Chicago Tribune, The Sun_ in Baltimore and _Forbes_. All basically commending him for turning his father's miniature country fortune into something legitimate," Urich said. J. Jonah Jameson raised an eyebrow.

"And you're telling me this because?" he asked. Urich clicked to another tab and bright yellow and black web page came up, with the headline, "Richard Fisk: Kingpin, Jr." Ben Urich pointed to the screen and turned to Jonah.

" _This_ is journalism, Jonah. This guy, Gerry Lequarre, did his damn research, Jonah," Urich said. Jameson leaned down and stared at the screen, before he suddenly stood up straight and shook his head.

" _This_ is shit, Urich. It's garbage and rambling. It's not even properly presented. How the hell is anyone supposed to read this crap?" Jameson said. Urich nodded and smiled, glancing back at the screen.

"Yes, it's very unfiltered and in desperate need of a touch-up. So, let me write a piece on Richard Fisk. The same topic. Is he just the second Kingpin or is he legit..." Jameson raised his hand.

"Hell no. You got lucky with Wilson Fisk. You and that goddamned web-crawler managed to twist things into your favor, somehow. But Richard Fisk is doing good things for the city. He's decreased unemployment, sponsored new housing projects using his own workers and industrial materials, manufactured safety precautions that can be installed in homes around the country...Ben, give me a goddamn break," Jameson said. Ben Urich shrugged.

"So what? He puts up a great act, pretending like he give's a sewer rat's ass what happens in this town. He's corrupt and crooked, just like his father. My link to Wilson Fisk was killed the day that Richard came into town. That is not a coincidence," Urich said, keeping his voice down. Jameson stared Urich in the eye.

"You are going to get yourself killed trying to pry places that you shouldn't. I won't let my best writer go down in history as yet another casualty of the 'conspiracy theory'." Urich shrugged.

"That would make for a great story. And...conspiracy theorist? This coming from the man that thinks a guy dressed in a spider costume that regularly saves people is a villain?" Urich said. Jameson scoffed.

"He is!" he replied as he stomped off to his office and closed the door. Urich chuckled under his breath and stared at the computer screen. Lequarre's article was horrendously written, but it did bring up interesting points that a more experienced investigative journalist like Ben Urich could use and develop. Urich scrolled down the page and slowly rubbed his beard as a smile crossed his face.

 **11:21 AM**

 **Watson Residence, Forest Hills, Queens**

Peter hung upside from Mary Jane's ceiling. In one hand, he held a human sized teddy bear that Mary had been requesting for months. Slowly, the Parker boy lowered himself, placed the bear behind MJ and softly kissed Mary's forehead. His girlfriend's hazel eyes opened and she stared at him lazily.

"Peter, why're you in my room so early?" she asked. Peter chuckled softly.

"I missed you," Peter replied. "Winnie wanted to see you too." Mary Jane wrinkled her brow and then tried to turn over only to meet a large golden-brown teddy bear. Her face instantly was brightened and she grabbed it. She turned to Peter and smiled widely.

"You sweet, handsome tiger," Mary said as she kissed Peter. The teen flipped from the ceiling and landed softly on MJ's floor. Casually, he sat on her bed and ran his fingers through her dark auburn and black hair.

"I know that you've wanted this for a while, so Merry Belated Christmas and Happy New Year," Peter replied. "How are you feeling?" Mary gave an exasperated sigh.

"I feel like I have an annoying case of cabin fever. My aunt won't let me leave the house until the doctors have cleared me which they clearly already have, otherwise I wouldn't be home." Mary playfully pouted. Peter smirked and then nodded.

"Maybe," he said. "It's for the best." Mary Jane's pout disappeared.

"Wait, what do you mean 'It's for the best'?" she asked. Peter sighed and turned away from her, trying to think of the words to say. In truth, he wanted her to be safe at all times, not just from physical harm but emotional harm as well.

"My enemies. They're getting more personal and touching me far closer to home than I'd like. Within the time I've been a hero, a crazy Australian game hunter and a giant lizard attacked my school. A giant green freak that had a hand in killing both my parents and my uncle put Harry in the hospital, kidnapped you and Aunt Mae then almost killed you on top of that. He attacked my heart and if..." Peter paused. The way his mind was running, he almost confessed to Mary that he was working for Richard Fisk. He stopped, took in a deep breath and began to speak again. "If anyone else comes close to doing my friends harm, I don't know if I'll be able to save you. Or stop myself from crossing the line..."

Mary's soft hand touched Peter's back before she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on him. Peter didn't realize that he was shaking and crying. In the dark corner of his emotions, Peter found himself lost. Mary Jane squeezed him.

"Calm down, tiger. It's ok. It's ok," she repeated. MJ moved up to sit next to Peter and rubbed his back as she looked into his eyes. "Hey." Peter looked at her. The sun peeked through the window and touched her face, turning her vanilla skin golden. "I love you. I know that being attached to you is dangerous, but you're who I chose." Peter shook his head.

"I just don't want you to be hurt," he said. MJ raised an eyebrow.

"Stop thinking I'm some delicate little damsel that needs to be put away and hidden, Peter. I can take care of myself," she replied. Peter opened his mouth to object but instead, kept his words to himself. His girlfriend was defiant and tough to the bone. But she didn't have powers. For a brief moment, Peter's mind went to Felicia Hardy.

 _'We fought gangs together. We took down Fisk._ ' she had said. They had done that. They had defeated the two mutant Hand assassins, dispatched the Enforcers and managed to bring down Wilson Fisk. Felicia had even used her powers to decrease the probability of Mary Jane's death. MJ didn't have powers. She had no crime-fighting experience. She was always in danger. But, Felicia...

 _ **She'd make a perfect mate for us...**_ a voice hissed in Peter's head.

"Are you ok?" MJ asked suddenly, breaking Peter's thought train. He quickly nodded and tried to clear his head.

"Yeah," he replied, before standing to his feet. He turned to Mary and her face looked quizzical. Peter raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked. Mary shrugged.

"You just look...different," she said. Peter shook his head and rubbed his face.

"Maybe my facial hair is finally starting to come in." MJ frowned a little and then shook her head.

"No, maybe I'm just bugging." she glanced over at her clock. "Don't you have to be to work at noon?" she asked. Peter looked at the clock and nodded quickly.

"Crap, yeah," he said as he leaned down to MJ's face level. He smiled. "I'll call you later, ok?" he said. MJ slowly nodded.

"All right."

The two kissed briefly and in a swift move, Peter was out of Mary's room and darting down the street. As he entered a side street, the symbiote covered his body and he was in the air, swinging towards his job. Inside, he felt his conversation with Mary _should've_ gone better. He cared about her deeply and all he wanted was to make sure she was safe, yet, she saw it as him making her seem weak. Peter shook his head and he landed on a building and rolled before leaping again as another black web-like tendril shot from his wrist.

 _It's for her own good,_ Peter thought as he corkscrewed through the air. Downtown Manhattan was in front of him before he even realized how fast he was going and he landed on top of the Daily Bugle. The symbiote retreated, based on a nerve impulse from Peter's brain. The teenager watched the black organism sink back into his skin. He smirked as he slowly scaled down the building, avoiding the eyesight of the busy New York streets and then entered the Daily Bugle building.

When he exited the elevator near the top, the office was busy as it usually was. Betty Brant was at the printer and on the phone simultaneously, while others were shouting about deadlines. The only man sitting calmly amidst the chaos was Ben Urich. His eyes were locked on his computer, dipping down every so often as he looked at something. Peter walked towards him and casually waved.

"Mr. Urich," he said. Urich looked up quickly as if he had been woken from a trance and then sighed softly.

"Oh, hey, Peter. How are you?"Urich lazily looked back at his computer as Peter rounded the cubicle.

"Cool," he said, looking down. "Working on anything special for today's paper? Everyone's running around like a decapitated chicken." Urich shook his head.

"No, not for today. I'm going to need a little more research," Urich said, glancing up at Peter. He looked back at his computer. "Jameson might need some pictures of Spider-Man or something. Isn't that why you're here?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "I haven't taken anything of him. Unless Jameson wants something old. Haven't really seen him," Peter said. Betty yelled as the printer's alarm blared. Peter crossed the floor and looked from Betty to the printer. "Are you all right?" Betty shook her head.

"HOLD ON, CHRIST!" she said. Betty put the phone on mute and sighed. "No, I'm not. I've got some asshole on the phone begging for a retraction for last week's paper and this goddamn printer won't print." Peter looked at the printer and its blaring, red alert. It didn't appear to be missing any paper. The table was shaking so Peter assumed that Betty had hit it multiple times. It was a cordless printer, it seemed. A light bulb clicked in Peter's head and within seconds, he had re-calibrated the printer to accept the Daily Bugle's wi-fi. When he looked back up, Betty was staring in surprise. The printer began pumping out papers.

"There you go," Peter said. Betty raised an eyebrow.

"How did you...?" she started.

"Oh, just reconnected the computer to this floor's wi-fi. It was on the building wi-fi and everyone in this place is using it. Should be fine now, though," Peter said. Betty cocked her head to the side.

"Hm. Wait, question?" Peter smirked.

"Answer..." he replied. Betty laughed.

"How good are you at techy stuff? I think _all_ of our computers aside from Ben and Jameson's are connected to the building wi-fi. Could you connect the rest of our computers?" she asked. Before Peter could answer, Betty was blinking rapidly, in a blur of black eyelashes and brown irises. Peter laughed.

"I'm pretty good with it. I figure out things as I go along. I'll handle your problem," Peter said with a grin. Betty gave Peter a wink and started to walk away.

A yell broke through the chaos in the room. Every head turned to the source of the sound and Peter's eyes caught sight of Ben Urich with coffee all over himself, his computer and his documents. Peter narrowed his eyes when he saw who had caused it. She was young, petite and wore glasses. Her clothes were a size too large and looked rather unkempt.

"Jesus," Betty said. Peter shook his head as the girl hurriedly attempted to clean off Urich, only moving around his papers and burying them further in coffee stains. Urich finally shooed her away and gripped his temples as he looked down at his work.

"Who in the world is that?" Peter whispered to Betty.

"Delilah Alvard, the new intern," Betty replied quickly. Jameson burst through the doors to his office and looked around.

"What the hell? Did someone die? Why're you all standing around looking like dipshits watching a tornado?" Jameson asked. His eyes flashed to Urich and it seemed to take everything he had not to bust out into laughter. "It's just a coffee spill, people. Back to work!" Without a pause or breath, Jameson continued. "Parker, you better have pictures of that irritating neighborhood spider-freak or something!" Peter opened his mouth but Betty stepped in.

"Peter's on tech duty today," she said to Jonah. The Editor-in-Chief frowned.

"The hell? Says who?" he asked. Betty pointed around the room.

"Says the computers that are moving at a snail's pace. Peter's going to re-route them to this floor's wi-fi."

Jameson rolled his eyes. "I need pictures, not high-speed internet for Saint Peter's sake," he said before waving his hand. "Fine, he's given us enough pictures of that costumed bastard to last a few weeks. Handle your computer issues and Urich, clean up that goddamn station. It looks like you took a liquid dump on the floor," Jameson growled as he went into his office.

The new intern continued to apologize to Ben Urich from afar, quickly turning away when he shot her an evil glance. Delilah scampered away with her head hung low. As Peter made his rounds, Delilah nearly ran into him. His eyes and his Spider-Sense blared. Under his skin, he felt the symbiote as if it was preparing to defend Peter's body. He calmed it with a thought.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Delilah apologized, looking up over her glasses. Peter nodded and smiled.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it," he replied. As he continued to walk around and assess the computers, Delilah was on his heels and talking.

"I see your name under the captions for all the Spider-Man pictures. That's so cool! How do you get him to pose for you?" she asked. Peter sighed inwardly. He had answered this question numerous times.

"Usually, I just catch him in action. Other times, I ask him for a few shots. I don't see him often so it's important that I get as many poses as I can," Peter said. The truth was, Peter took pictures in bulk to make the most money. He came into work now simply to keep up appearances. The money that he made working for Fisk was _more_ than enough to pay bills and save for his college fund.

Although, he had the sneaky suspicion that his godfather would magically spring forth with a full-ride scholarship.

"Oh, ok," Delilah said. Peter finished with the last computer and then turned to see Delilah...nowhere to be found. Peter looked around and blinked. Where had she disappeared to? Peter looked around again, before continuing his run looking at computers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ben Urich rise from his chair with a briefcase and coffee stained documents. He must have been able to salvage them somehow. Urich had a stubborn, determined look on his face as he left the office floor and Peter wondered why he was so hard pressed about his work. Sure, Urich was a consummate professional, but whatever he was writing now was clearly something he treasured greatly and needed to keep under absolute wraps. Peter narrowed his eyes. He suspected that something was up...

 **11:30 PM**

 **FiskTech Headquarters, Manhattan**

"Ben Urich is attempting to write an exposé about myself and my company's operations. As you know, FiskTech is legitimately making grand technological advancements, so I'm not concerned about him destroying my company. But, his research will inevitably fall on the date that I announced FiskTech's turn. It is the same day that Frederick Foswell died. A great journalist like Mr. Urich will see a link, especially since Foswell was his informant," Richard Fisk said, leaning back in his chair.

Peter hung upside down, attached to a web-line with the symbiote covering every part of his body. He breathed softly. "What do you want me to do?" he asked. Fisk shrugged.

"Do what needs to be done." He appeared to sense Peter's growing agitation because he continued. "Killing Urich won't be necessary. I don't want the man dead. But, his work needs to be destroyed and you need to frighten him enough that he doesn't try this again," Richard Fisk said.

Peter inhaled then exhaled. "This will implicate me with whatever you're doing and add fuel to Urich's fire." Peter paused. His mind went to the money. **"It'll get done** **,"** Venom spoke. Richard Fisk blinked and then nodded.

"I know this is a high-risk job, so your pay will be tripled." Peter was gone when Fisk's sentence ended. He knew that his employer's next words would be Urich's address, but Peter had been to his home before. This time, however, he'd be on the other side of the spectrum.

For once, the winds weren't blowing snow into Peter's face or causing the wind to chill his bones. He descended to Hell's Kitchen, flipping as the symbiote suit gave him perfect equilibrium. Delicately, Peter landed on the building opposite Urich's apartment. It was dark, aside from a small light that could've been a lamp. Perhaps, Urich was hard at work. That'd stop now.

Peter crashed through Urich's window and landed in a three-point stance. Urich whipped around his desk. Before Urich could effectively make him out, Peter slipped into the shadows and let his Venom persona take control.

" **You're digging into things that you shouldn't, Urich. Kill the story,** " Venom said. Urich didn't appear fazed.

"The Richard Fisk piece? I knew there was something hidden behind his company. That man's up to something. Tell me what and I won't give Jameson real news on the corruption of Spider-Man," Urich said. Peter gasped, the symbiote masked the sound. This was a ploy...

" **Are you trying to blackmail me?** " Venom growled. Urich stood up.

"No. It's my first set of back-up, Spider-Man." Venom shot a tendril through the shadows and pulled Urich towards him.

" **We are not Spider-Man. We. Are. Venom,** " he snarled. Venom's Spider-Sense vibrated down his spine. He barely dodged the first attack, only to be hit by another from the side. Venom let Urich go when the next hit knocked him from the window. He climbed to the adjacent building and faced his attackers. Two people jumped up to meet him. A man dressed in burgundy and black light armor with a devil horn helmet and a woman dressed in a skin tight red dress, with a red bandana covering her head and another covering her face. From her belt, she pulled two sai blades and twirled them in her hand. " **Who...are you?** " Venom asked.

The armored man cracked his knuckles and stared Peter down. With a hushed, deep voice, he said, "The Devils of Hell's Kitchen."


End file.
